Rich Bastard {mxm}

Eight.

"I owe no one a single thing. The only one who can hurt me is me," -C.T

For the longest time in my life, I never knew what guilt was.

I liked to think that I still didn't. I mean, I had no need to feel guilty for anything. I had no need to feel anything as I lost the ability to care or feel eight years ago. I lost it all. 

I guessed that it was a perk that came with being rich and belonging to the wealthy. I guessed that I was turning into the shell of a person that Sterling wanted me to be, and I hated it because it was all his fault in the first place.

"Are you okay, sir?" Pierre piped up quietly from the front of the town car, looking at me as I coughed violently. I covered myself, not liking the way that he was looking at me. I went to retort and tell him to mind his business because concern was disgusting and pitiful and I was everything but, however, my lungs defied me and began forcing me to cough.

"I'm fine," I hissed, though I was sure it didn't sound threatening at all. Pierre frowned, going to say something that was probably along the lines of, 'please get better, master,' or some soothing and touching mess like that. I didn't do emotions. They scared me, if I was being real with myself, which I always was. I hated dealing with empaths and emotions and things like that. I found myself always catering to the logical side of me as it got the things I needed to be done.

"How did you get sick?" I narrowed my eyes, wondering why he felt the need to keep talking to me as he drove me home. It was probably the fact that he was plotting my demise while my defense was down. Nonetheless, I was still on guard even if I was practically delivering my soul to its death. I narrowed my eyes, gauging him for a few seconds before deciding to throw him a bone. He hadn't particularly annoyed me lately or messed up on his jobs, so I felt compelled to be less me.

"I don't know. I just woke up with a sore throat and then it lead to me coughing and sneezing," I explained, wondering if someone in the house gave me their sickness. It could've been one of the maids that stood really close to me yesterday. It could've been a ploy by the hands of Davina or Sterling to get me to bend to their will. Nah, who was I kidding?

It was probably from that poor boy. 

He looked as if he carried every single disease in the world, especially with those paint-covered pants he wore the other day when Tomas took Vivi out for a walk in the park. It was irritating because if I wanted to walk in the park or a big open grass area, I would just go out into my backyard. It was probably three times the size of the park he told us to meet him at. I was genuinely disturbed.

"God," I rubbed my face, just wanting to pass out already. I didn't get sick often but when I did, it was horrendous. "I hope you feel better," I scowled, fighting the urge to dare him to say something else so I could deduct his pay for annoyance, but he came to a stop sign, pointing out the window. I tilted my head, wondering what he was looking at, and I followed his finger to see a short, straggly woman who looked to be in her thirties, yet she had so many wrinkles, dark lips and dark spots all over her face. 

She was stumbling and I could see marks all over her arm near the interior of her elbow and I clenched my fists in anger and in disgust, knowing what that meant.

She was a fucking heroin addict. 

Pierre rolled down the window just a bit as she floundered her way over like a fish out of water and I frowned in immense agitation, squeezing the door handle a little too tight. "Do you," The woman coughed and wheezed, her lungs sounding as if she hadn't had water in days. "Do you have some money?" The way her voice sounded, the way she looked, my lip began to curl up in extreme vexation as my leg began bouncing up and down, anger coating my entire being. My hands were shaking and I lifted them up from the handle to squeeze them tight, shaking my head at myself.